Pretty as a Car Crash
by Meth Mouth Melodies
Summary: Harry always thought that Voldemort would come close to killing him. Not muggle technology. After an incident, Harry's apperance is anything but pretty. Everyone thinks he's dead, now, but he's anything but that. Rating may change. Shippings unknown. WIP.


A/N: I'm not new - I have quite a few stories out there on another account but I'm not telling who I am. You must guess if you're so curious. The title of this story may give it away if you've read my old profile before, if not, then no. I just got tired of those stories, and created this account to see if I can do this one without getting distracted. Thanks for reading, nonetheless. Updates may be slow, since I work a lot and also, I haven't written in a while and my motivation is a bit dry. Lets just call it 'a way to get rid of writers block'.

&& has anyone else noticed the absolute numerous amount of horrible fics out there now? It takes me 30 minutes now just to find something decent! I'm not saying I'm perfect, but oh my God, it's horrible to not be able to find something to read like I used to be able to.

: I own nothing but the plot. This is considered Severitus, but in a very Dark way.

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Plip, plip, plip.

The sound of water dripping outside from the gutter seemed mind numbingly loud. A stream of water trickled down the glass of the window, leaving behind transparent trails in its wake. Everything outside was blurred by the sheet of rain falling like a thick duvet.

Harry sat on his bed, elbows on his knees and chin propped in his thin hands. His eyes were dull, no spark of interest in those green orbs as he watched the water streaming down his only window. Like a spiders web, the water entwined in various patterns.

Hedwig rustled restlessly in her metal wired cage in the corner of the room, but Harry was used to her making such noises. She always got fidgety when it began to rain.

A soft rumbling picked up and rolled in the distance, leaving an echo in the boys mind as the thunder traveled through the sky and quieted. The whole house was eerily quiet for a Saturday afternoon.

Harry lowered his eyes to the floor, a soft sigh escaping his lips as his vision darted from item to item, each one more or less weird than the others. Books on magic, spells, potions, a sport with brooms, a metal cauldron, piles of rumpled robes and uniforms. A picture frame lay upside down on the bedside table, the occupants unseen.

It had been in a fit of anger and annoyance that Harry had slammed the picture frame of his parents down on the table. He had gotten into an argument with his Uncle Vernon and the older man had been quite rude in his remarks. Harry's anger couldn't be helped.

Running bony fingers through his tousled hair, avoiding the large dark bruise on his forehead, the boy stood up. He was still short, his growing having stopped the previous year. He was pale, bony from lack of food interest; his dark hair lay messily on his shoulders from where it had grown out in the past months and hung daintily in his eyes that were hidden behind round eyewear. His body had a few cuts and bruises, mainly on the arms.

Harry glanced around. He'd been doing that a lot lately. One could hardly blame him - he was beginning to believe he saw shadows everywhere. It was like Voldemort or his followers were with him all the time, shades in his dreams that would never disappear. He nearly felt paranoid.

Hedwig hooted solemnly across from the room, her eyes resting on her owner. Said owner only gave her a ghost of a smile before walking over to his desk and picking up a piece of parchment that was crumpled and torn. It had been the last letter Ron had sent him that summer after their fifth year. He hadn't gathered up enough want to write back to his friend. Besides, he had no idea of what he would respond with.

Harry had been annoyed that Ron and Hermione wouldn't share a word with him about what was going on - he knew that Hermione was over at the Weasley's house and it didn't take a genius to figure out that the Order was now located there. Lupins' short worded replies to questions only gave that away.

He sighed. He was being left out and it was depressing. So much was going on around him and he was stuck in this boring household with three people he despised the most in the world. Of course, everyone thought that Harry didn't have it so bad. If only they knew the half of it.

Endless nights of arguments that turned into fist fights. Every word hitting emotionally, every shove hurting physically. The spite was damaging, and the anger left wounds in its wake.

Harry knew he couldn't handle much more of the abuse. Yes, it was abuse. If the Order didn't get him out of the Dursley's house soon, he couldn't guarantee that they would survive to see the next year. Or he wouldn't.

Just thinking about all the words shouted at him over the past weeks made him hot with anger. He scowled and fisted the letter from Ron in his hand. He bit down on his lip so that he wouldn't scream in frustration and cause more ruckus with the Dursleys. How could the Order, his friends, leave him in a place with relatives so horrible? In the letter that he ruined in his hand, Ron had reassured him that things would be okay and that he was over exaggerating over small happenings.

But Ron never had had to worry about hurt. The redhead family had never had to deal with such pain.

It was all pain. The world itself was filthy with it. Voldemort caused it, simple family caused it, and even the ones he loved created it.

Thunder rumbled again, and lightening began streaking across the porcelain clouds outside of the too neat house in violet and blue hues. He threw the parchment down on the desk again, not bothering to flatten it back out.

Harry shifted and hugged his arms to his chest, eyes darting over to the window. He was starving, and tired; his room was cold. There was always a draft coming through his window near the bottom. He supposed it was from when the bars from his second year had been ripped off.

The past nights were filled with insomnia and paranoia for him. He wasn't sure if the suspense of not knowing anything that was going out outside of Privet Drive was causing it, or his own thoughts of what lie ahead in the future did, but it was starting to take its toil on him. Dark rings underlined his eyes on his pale face.

One would think he was something of the living dead.

A knock from somewhere alerted Harry. His eyes darted to the door and they narrowed as he was unsure of what to expect. Dinner couldn't be ready now - there was still at least half an hour before it was time for him to place the utensils and plates for his aunt.

He sauntered over to the door and closed his eyes. It was probably his uncle, ready to yell at him for something Dudley did.

With a sigh, he jerked the door open and glared out into the hallway.

But there was no one there.

Harry blinked and looked left and right down the hallway. There weren't any footsteps indicating the person had walked away and there was no sign of anyone anywhere.

Harry decided to shut his door again. He had probably just heard the wind against the houses roof. Hedwig once again began to fidget in her cage. He turned to her, wondering why the rain bothered her.

"What's wrong, girl?" he cooed, stepping closer to the cage. He poked his index finger into the cage and stroked the feathers on her head. She hooted again, softly and sidestepped towards him. He couldn't let her outside in this rainstorm, so she'd have to wait a while.

A few minutes passed by, the second hand on his clock ticking loudly in his ears.

Tick, tick, tick.

It vaguely reminded him of a time bomb, waiting to explode after the last second's up. He pulled away from Hedwig's cage and sat back down on his bed. He felt restless as he sat in his room all day. His bed was rumpled from his constant movements, items were kicked about without a care from his pacing.

Harry rubbed his hands up and down his arms, feeling the friction warm the skin underneath his palms. He chanced another look out the window, as if he were waiting for something to come and take him away from his relatives.

But as he stared out into that dark mess outside his window, he noticed something in the sky. Something big. Something loud.

A humming noise, still faint, but leaving the house to shake under its rumbling growl issued and up until then, the boy hadn't noticed it. Harry's heart skipped a beat. Whatever it was, it was pretty close to the rooftops, and lowering as he watched.

He gulped and went over to Hedwig's cage. He opened it up and she fluttered out, and flew over to his bed, landing on the headrest. She was edgy, and fidgeted as the sound became more prominent, like a roaring in his ears.

Harry glanced out at the window again and his heart stopped. Something indeed wasn't right.

There was a plane right outside his window, a dozen houses down the street, only a few dozen yards above the houses. Huge, dark in the rain, and lowering onto the roofs of those houses below it. Harry felt panic rise in his throat, his mind numbed.

He watched as the roofs gave in underneath the large metal bulk during that mere second, toppling over and falling to the ground in a heaped mess. Smoke and dust rose up in a cloud, and the engine of the plane roared angrily as wooden planks caught in the propellers. Two, three, four houses down and still coming. The plane flipped over, downing another two homes.

A loud squawk alerted him. He rushed forward in terror, wrenched the window open. He winced at the crashing, the inhuman noises coming his way.

"Get out of here, Hedwig!" He screamed. She had to get out, she needed to get to the others. She was all he had. All this was happening in a mere minute, and nothing was going to stop that plane from landing on Number Four.

At his command, the frightened bird flew out the window and into the rainy world outside. Harry couldn't see her after a few seconds.

The house shook, his ears rang, and his body quivered in fright. He'd never thought that something like this would kill him. He'd always thought it would be Voldemort to do the job.

He cringed and turned quickly away from the window and to the door. He wrenched it open and ran out, taking the flight of stairs two at a time and jumped the last few.

The front door was wide open, no sign of his relatives anywhere. They must have left. They must have known before him and hadn't even bothered to get him.

He didn't pause to take it into consideration, because just as he took a step forward, that loud, monstrous noise entered the house.

The plane's nose ripped through the left half of Number Four, a burning ball of metallic mess. The walls were ripped, the roof was shattered, windows broke, and everything seemed like it was the end in a matter of seconds.

Harry fell as the gust of debris overtook him, and pain flooded through his body. He couldn't think about anything, the shock engulfing him before a mocking darkness ceased hold of his mind.


End file.
